


A Family Is What You Make

by Sebastinoodle



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, F/M, I mean, M/M, Marvel - Freeform, Other, and tony is a jealous poop, bucky likes beyonce, enjoy, high school drama angst, i lost the plot halfway through and wanted to finish something for once, its a mess, sam and bucky own a bar, so here, there's fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:09:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6642559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sebastinoodle/pseuds/Sebastinoodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky and Sam own a bar. The group can't even go an AU without fighting for the cause.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Family Is What You Make

**Author's Note:**

  * For [but_im_danger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/but_im_danger/gifts).



> A gift for @but_im_danger because I've been a butt of a friend recently and my Stucky brain isn't working at the minute. I hope you enjoy :)

It was the third time that month Bucky had been called to the principal’s office. Not for himself, he's a twenty four year old man for crying out loud. It was for the group of kids who always stopped by his bar, be it to keep out of the rain or to try and swindle him for some alcohol- tricked them more than enough times into drinking water and sharing the apple pie that the cougar, with the two Corgi’s, downstairs always made him.

 

Now he isn't related to them, whatsoever, but they've been coming by the bar for two years and helped him more times than he could count, so of course Bucky couldn't say no to the principal when he was called in about some fight or another.

 

So here he sat, with six kids waiting outside in the hallway, listening to the principal (Pierce or something, complete dick in Bucky's opinion) ramble on about how _they're in their final year of high school_ and _they'll never go further in the world if they continue to fight like this_. What brought him out of the I've-heard-it-all-before-stupor was a comment about shitty parenting.

 

_O_ _h hell no_.

 

From outside the door muffled shouting could be heard by the rag tag group (coined “The Avengers” by some kid two grades on, Parker or something) waiting for their inevitable punishment.

 

“We could always make a break for it,” Clint suggested, twirling a drumstick between his fingers, pouting slightly as Natasha plucked it away. “You're in no shape to be trying anything, Clint.” The redhead pointed out, and she was right, Clint had a bandage around his head and around the knuckles of his left hand. Nat, of course, didn't look much different. Only way you could tell she was in a fight was by the slight ruffle in her usually immaculate hair. Thor, who never seemed to look like anything except, well, literally the Norse God, only had one bruise on his face- but that was indirectly from Jane, managed to somehow hit a very expensive piece of equipment from the school's science lab with his face when trying to impress said person. Wanda didn't even look like she'd been in a fight, having woken up rather grumpy that morning, it had taken a few death glares to keep people out of her general direction. Tony, the ever denying 'concerned dad' of the group, was invested in a conversation littered with chill banter with, who else would it be, the cause of the of the fight, Steve Rogers. Not that Steve didn't look like a very bruised, very annoyed, human shaped peach…except that he did. Had the guy done something to piss the guy off _directly_? No. But stick of the dump Hammer wouldn't leave the girl alone, so the fight was inevitable.

 

“Whilst I agree with our ever so wise maiden,” Thor quipped, drinking from a water bottle that may or may not be filled with vodka, could never really tell, you'd think the guy was drunk all the time with his expressive and dramatic behaviour “It is only right to think of an escape plan, especially with how our saviour is acting towards the vermin in the next room, we may not be truly victorious.”

 

“Okay Rapunzel, dial it down on the theatrics,” Tony rolled his eyes, ever the hypocrite, but was grinning all the same “Clearly the plan of action right now is to get our good ol' buddy, grumpy Barnes, to not tear off our limbs after he's finished the hairdryer treatment on good ol' Pierce-y.”

 

“Tony's right.” Natasha added.

 

“I'm sorry, did I just hear you agree with me? Did you just say that?”

 

“I wish I could take it back.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes at the two, wincing as he stubbornly held the melting ice pack to a bruised cheek. “We can't exactly buy him anything.”

 

“Well-”

 

“No, Tony, we're not using your money,” the skinny blond huffed and sat down “There's gotta be _something_ we can give Bucky as an apology. It's the third time this month.”

 

“Exactly, third time, pretty sure you're the cause- ow- hey!” Clint whined and rubbed his ear, glaring at Natasha like an angry Pug or something.

 

They were all relatively silent after that, listening to the muffled shouts and curses from behind the door- looks like Bucky was really reigning it in-, with the occasional tap of feet on the ground or the muttered whines from Clint who _just wanted his other drumstick back, not like he'd meant to jab a guy in the eye with it_.

 

It took another ten minutes before Bucky stepped out of the principal's office, looking thoroughly annoyed yet smug at the same time. The male turned on his heel and faced all six of them, let his gaze linger, firm and a brow raised, on each of them for a while before he huffed out a breath. “You've been suspended for three days, each, consider yourself lucky.” Each of them let out a breath of relief, some more expressive than others at the more than positive outcome.

 

Tony hopped up and smirked lightly, “This mean we can go to the- ow!” The brunet huffed, rubbing at the ear Bucky had yanked “I didn't do anything!”

 

“You broke that Hammer kid's glasses and kicked him face first into a trophy display, Stark. Would you _like_ me to inform your Aunt Peg' about this?” Bucky rose an eyebrow, knowing the answer all too well when Tony's tan skin went ten shades on the pale side. “Didn't think so. Now, all of you, get the stuff you need and then to the parking lot.”

 

“You brought the truck?” Clint grinned and quickly got out of his seat, using his revitalized energy to pluck the drumstick from Natasha's hold and run towards his locker. The others followed a similar example, grinning and murmuring happily as they head off to their lockers- although Steve did stay behind.

 

The blond let out a breath and crossed one skinny arm over another, looking up at Bucky (why'd the guy have to be so damn tall?!) “You're not mad at us?”

 

“Nah, I'm proud. You kicked a creepy guys ass, good job Rogers.” Bucky replied, lips curled into a smile. A paw of a hand reaching out, ruffling Steve's hair which was effortlessly slapped away. Bucky let out a small laugh and slung an arm around Steve's shoulder, pulling him into a side for a half-hug and then let go, “Go get your stuff, Rogers.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Said teen murmured and head off down the hall and around the corner.

 

Bucky watched him go, eyes crinkled in the corners, smile playing at his lips. He couldn't be mad at them, Hammer kid was almost as bad as Pierce (who's ass he'd totally blackmailed), no way in hell would he get mad at them for defending a girl being pressured. Even if they could have been more civil- ha! He was probably worse in high school, but only to wrong people for the right reasons. Apple didn’t fall too far from the non-relative tree.

 

Only waited around a few seconds longer before heading out to the parking lot and over to the only vehicle that wasn’t a) a motorbike, or b) something so preppy it looked like it should belong to a mom in the suburbs. It was a pickup truck, borrowed it from Dum Dum whenever the bike was in shop, and had more than enough space to handle six usually out of control teens. Bucky unlocked the truck and got inside, shuffling back against the bum crease in the wearing leather seat comfortably, starting up the engine and the heating. No way was he getting a cold, _from anyone._ A calloused hand reached out and flicked on the radio, _Fade to Black_ playing, after a quick reach for the volume dial with minimal cursing involved, quietly throughout the car.

 

The sound of bodies plopping on to the back of the pickup truck alerted Bucky of the new (and _maybe_ improved) version of the Scooby gang return, some complaining that _no the purple pillow is mine, it’s always mine, take your shitty red one_ and _I fixed this one so technically I now own it._ Passenger door opened and Steve hopped up on to the worn down leather seat that matched Bucky’s own; Only one of the six he permitted to sit there, didn’t want the kid catching a cold or something.

 

“They all ready to go or m’I gonna have a few car accidents?”

 

Steve held up a hand, already occupied by the cheap phone, one Bucky had given to him despite the insistence that _no I don’t need one, I’d never use it anyway,_ the timer counting down _three...two….one,_ and then the familiar knock to the hood of the car and then the brunet was reversing out the parking spot and driving away from suburban mom cars and out into the city.

 

 

This was the part he didn’t know whether to hate or to love. The comfortable silence. He hated this part because what the hell does a guy, who doesn’t know squat about modern culture except for Star Wars, talk to the skinny kid who knew more about anything than Bucky, ever? But he loved this part _because_ they didn’t have to talk, could just change the volume on the music or share equally annoyed expressions at asshole drivers. Of course it was only ruined by honking cars, the tapping away of Steve on his phone, no doubt trying to remember an idea for his art class, muffled arguments of Tony trying to disprove Thor’s belief in magic, and admittedly to the sound of _California Dreamin’_ mumbled through the, just as admittedly shitty, car sound system.

 

They got to the bar around fifteen minutes late because Clint had wanted Starbucks and that had ended up with Tony snickering like a seven year old at a joke Bucky _just didn’t get_. Probably something to do with the internet. Only use Bucky had for the internet was intense bidding wars on Amazon for first edition sci-fi books, scrolling through Buzzfeed shit posts, going on the NASA website and occasionally for some porn. The search results for NASA and articles on space _heavily_ outweighing any porn searches.

 

Bucky and Steve got out of the car, the rest of their company hopping out the back of the truck with happy grins, especially Clint, who looked more buzzed due to whatever fancy coffee he’d been drinking (Natasha said he was a coffee snob, but she also said he’d drink coffee water out of a gym shoe if it was available, so whatever).

 

“Remember the rules, Tony?”

 

“Don’t break the TV again.”

 

“Thor?”

 

“Do not smash your glasses or various mugs.”

 

“Wanda?”

 

“Only use the tarot pack on willing patrons.”

 

“Natasha?”

 

“No kicking people in the balls even if they deserve it.”

 

“Clint?”

 

“Don’t steal the good coffee.”

 

“Steve?”

 

“Only sketch on paper and not the walls, for they are not my personal canvases.”

 

“Good,” Bucky nodded and then turned on his heel, heading into the bar. It was a quaint place, 1950’s diner meeting downtown Brooklyn. The floors were wooden, all mismatched shades, pretty sure Sam had hollowed a couple out to hide his ‘secret’ family recipe (like Plankton, but nicer. And intimidating when he wanted to be). The floor littered with circular wooden tables, chipped paint but newly varnished, with mismatched seats set around them, some leather and some of them the uncomfortable plastic blue chairs with floral and checkered pillows placed on them. Booths lined one side of the room, the other lined with high chairs and tables that could fit thirty pint glasses, much to Tony’s curiosity, and not too shockingly those thirty glasses were hell to clean, especially in hundreds of shards on the ground (Thor, bless his heart, could be clumsy at the most random of times). Multiple TV’s running the sports and news with subtitles lined the walls, along with art pieces that Steve had donated. And by donated it meant a painting resting against the counter with a note saying ‘ _stop making Sam do the dirty work and just ask me for the paintings, we’ll discuss the price in the future, jerk_ ’. The main centerpiece of the room, of course, the one thing that honed everyone in, being the immaculate counter littered with bowls of peanuts and a donations jar to the local VA.

 

“Honey, I’m home.” Bucky sang, wandering over to the counter with a grin, Sam heading out from out the kitchen with an amused smile, drying his hands with an old rag. He reached over, dark hand reaching out to rest on the back of Bucky’s neck, squeezing lightly to tug the male forward and brush their lips together, “You smell like car oil and look like you just signed up to pay for some kids medical bill.”

 

“You’re so romantic, Sam, y’know that?” Bucky grinned and pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek, getting a huff of laughter from his fiancé.

 

Lost in their own little world, the two forgot their guests. Natasha coaxing Wanda to sit down and let the redhead play with and style her hair, something comforting for the both of them. Thor listening to Clint ramble on about how useful coffee pots are and _they’re really just a large, convenient coffee mug if you think about it._

 

Steve being Steve, had hunched forward, sketching on the back of his math homework, frowning; and Tony, fiddling with the TV remote wires, thinking of various ways to shoot a precise hole through Barnes’ head. _Steve likes him why couldn’t he see that? Just because he’s got a damn_ _fiancé, ugh. It’s Steve’s fault, if he’d just be all sappy and gross towards Tony instead then all would be fine. Damn it, Rogers. Stop falling in love with engaged men with bad haircuts._

 

They all fell into an easy rhythm for the next few hours. Sam and Bucky taking their buddy Logan’s latest delivery of independent beer down to the cellar before making sure the place was up to par before opening, Natasha and Wanda sitting, rather amused, through Clint's interrogation of their relationship due to dubbing himself Natasha’s protector, Thor and Steve coaxing Tony away from the TV before he decided to make _upgrades;_ _again._

 

“You don’t expect me to handle _all_ of them, do you?” Bucky whined, complaint muffled by a kiss to his lips.

 

Sam rolled his eyes and grinned, shrugging on a brown jacket that Bucky, secretly, found repulsive, and opened the door to the bar. “You’ll manage just fine, always do, and...consider it practise,” and with the bombshell of _sure, we’ll have kids someday_ Sam left- door closing on Bucky’s face. Said male cleared his throat, tugged at the collar of his t-shirt, made his way back around the bar where he found a unique creature in the form of Steve Rogers sketching the other ever so unique creature Tony Stark sleeping, looking more himself than he did when awake. Not that Bucky would know, that’s just one of the little things Steve would tell him.

 

Bucky started humming the tune to _Crazy In Love_ , which earned him a cashew nut to the face.

 

He laughed softly.

 

Steve didn’t.

 

“Trouble in paradise, Rogers?”

 

“No such thing.”

 

“In this world.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

“Punk.” That got a small smile out of the blond, followed by a muted sigh and a longing gaze in a pouting and distracted Tony’s direction. Bucky got it, he did. When he’d been crushing on Sam during all those sessions and finding out he was dating Riley, this redneck guy with dusty hair, russet eyes and a fucked up humour he’d ended up loving. Then Riley passed away and Bucky had felt so fucking guilty. Because being around Sam had make Bucky _love_ someone. _Love_ like he hadn’t before, and the worst part being that Riley _knew_. The months after that had been a wild ride that Bucky didn’t want to go through again because he planned on staying with Sam. And if that didn’t work out...get another dog.

 

“What Stark do to get my favourite munchkin upset, huh? Have I gotta kick his little ass?”

 

“No, Bucky, he just...he’s so _transparent_ , he’s got free range to surprisingly make out with me any day he likes, but he has it stuck in that idiot-” ironic “brain of his that I like _you_.”

 

“Don’t know whether I should be offended or flattered. The tone of your voice makes it,” Bucky gestured with his hand as if that completed the sentence. To Steve it did. Which got Bucky an eye roll and another cashew nut to the face.

 

Bony fingers curled around the cool glass of Steve’s drink, hand prints in place of condensation, elongated sigh tumbling from peach lips and a look of contemplation in baby blue’s.

 

Bucky hated the sight, reminded him of himself. A person full of life getting fucked over by emotions no one seemed able of controlling or describing. He just about opened his lips to speak when there was a buzzing on his person. A text from Sam.

 

_Be back in twenty, meeting got cancelled apparently? I don’t want to cook. Traffic is hell and we have no groceries._

 

A reply.

 

_Thai?_

 

Another buzz.

 

_Thai._

 

Bucky tucked his phone away again, refilling Steve’s drink of orange, and let his gaze lift to catch the eye of Tony, who just as quickly let his gaze drop to the radio from the kitchen he’d been tinkering with. An idea quickly formed. The, supposedly, responsible adult lowered his voice to a whisper and idly wiped down the counter, seemingly collected.

 

“We make him jealous.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Sam isn’t here, he’d find it funny anyway...hopefully. So, we flirt, we act like anyone else would with mutual attraction or flirting, high school movie normal anyway, and when Stark gets thoroughly pissed, he’ll either get mad at me and make out with you. Or it’ll be a high school drama, and you’ll end up making out with him to kick some sense into him.”

 

“Or I could just make out with him.”

 

“Good idea, your kind anyway, I’m dramatic. I’d say you’re sensible but we all know that isn’t true.” Steve snorted and shook his head, “I wouldn’t know how to-”

 

“Approach him? Just do it, like it’s the war and he’s the bomb you gotta stop from exploding to keep everyone safe.”

 

“Not helpin’.”

 

“Love y’too, punk.” Bucky hummed and rocked back and forth on the heel of his foot, eyes twinkling with amusement. He considered it a talent, dumbing down his dramatics to make people do the possible and easiest solution.

 

Confrontation, nasty thing. Highly avoidable if the cards were played right.

 

Natasha wandered over to the bar, setting down two empty glasses, eyes rolling at the two already. Knew just what they were talking about. “If you don’t make out with him-”

 

“Who’s making out with who?” Tony jumped in, effortlessly sliding up to the opposite side of Steve, leant against the counter with an ankle hooked over the other, arm resting on the actual counter top.

Steve glanced between the two, and then to Bucky who just stood there looking composed yet thoroughly amused. He hated him. He hated Natasha for mentioning for mentioning it. He also hated Tony for being Tony, but loved him for that too. Damn it. Why today? Of all days, with Steve looking like a broken doll fancy people owned and wearing his worse for wear clothes, did everyone had to be a menace about him making out with Tony!?

 

The teen let himself ponder for a while, being a few seconds where his idiotic brain actually listened to his idiotic thoughts for rash moments of decision, before he did swivel on his stool, skinny hand grabbing a fistful of Stark’s wash and wear _ACDC_ shirt, yanking the tan teen closer with lips threatening to tremble as they were pressed to the others.

 

To say it surprised Tony was an understatement.

 

To say everyone else was _fucking relieved_ was also an understatement.

 

Tony soon recovered and was returning the kiss with just as much desperation, Wanda ambled over to kiss Natasha’s cheek, more than ecstatic. Thor just gave a mighty, if you could even call it that, grin. Clint made a fake gagging sound and secretly hoped for one of them to have bad breath and to never kiss in public again. Rather drink his coffee without a make out session ten feet away. Oh well, at least they were finally getting their shit together.

 

Bucky looked over to the door where a smiling, and obviously early, Sam was stood- _still_ with that ugly ass jacket hugging his frame. He walked from around the counter and practically skipped over, pale hand resting over copper skin, the touch happily returned with a soft kiss.

 

“You order the food yet?” Sam murmured.

 

“It’s been ten minutes.”

 

“It’s Thai.”

 

“Shut it,” Bucky grinned and kissed Sam’s jaw, turning around as he looked to the now reformed group of teens at the bar, laughing and teasing and grinning like they know a secret no one else does. Maybe they did.

 

Maybe one day they’d stop coming to the bar, moved on with life and following their dreams. Or maybe they’ll just stay here and grow up to drink cheap beer and fruity concoctions.

 

“Sam?”

 

“Hm?"

 

“I want six.”

 

“You can barely handle a dog.”

 

“Six.”

 

“Okay, six kids. Gonna name ‘em after these guys?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Sentimental.”

 

“Asshole.”

 

“Love you,” Sam murmured against his shoulder. Bucky smiled fondly, titled and turned his head to the right, pressed a kiss to the side of Sam’s head, and then looked back to the others.

 

“Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd as usual.   
> There are mistakes, so apologies for those.   
> I do hope you enjoyed^^  
> Comments, criticism and kudos appreciated!


End file.
